You Are Not Alone
by valjanex
Summary: Eight teens. Eight suicide attempts. Eight different reason why. All Human. Cannon Parings.
1. Chapter 1

'YOU ARE NOT ALONE' It said on the very top of the page.

I stood on the left of Lauren, right of Tanya. Ever since they saw the papers for sign-ups, they've been making cracks on the subject. How dare they think it's funny. I waited for them to leave me in peace. I watched the paper, made sure no one was looking, lifted up the cover up paper, and wrote my name.

JESSICA STANELY

-X-

I flipped my blonde hair back and laughed with them. I'm so amazed I can still force myself to laugh after everything. Maybe talking to someone about it won't be so bad… Maybe being in a group of kids from my school will help. Maybe we can help each other. I escaped them and signed my name.

ROSALIE HALE

-X-

I can't help myself. I can't help being angry every second. It was, sadly, how I grew up. The environment I grew up in. How my father rubbed off on me… I hate who I've become. Doing this will help me.

EMMETT MCCARTY

-X-

Oh, no one wants to be friends with the emo kid. He's a freak! Is that all anyone cares about? How I appear? Do they care that I'm hurting inside? Maybe these people will…

EDWARD MAESEN

-X-

People used to like the little skip I have when I run. They said it looked like I was dancing. They said they liked how I flap my hands when I get excited. It looked like I was so excited I was flying. Now I get made fun of for it…

MARY ALICE BRANDON

-X-

With every rejection I get from a girl, I die more inside. Am I really that ugly?

MIKE NEWTON

-X-

Sexy Bella. God, I hate being called that. Just because I'm a stripper, doesn't mean I wanted that living. I hate my life and only wish it will go back to normal. How can I be so sure these people can help? I'll never know unless I try….

ISABELLA SWAN

-X-

I watched my best friend die. I couldn't help her. It's my fault.

JASPER WHITLOCK

This story is going to be interesting to write. Sad and angst, with romance. Where do I aim to go with this story? Like all my stories, I aim to leave a message on people. This one being: You Are Not Alone. I'm interested to see how this turns out. So interested that I actually did research.

National Hopeline is a hotline that you can call if you or someone you know is suicidal. I will put the website link on my profile.

Also, there is another one, it is To Write Love On Her Arms. They have a myspace but I can't find it. If I do or if someone can give me the link, I will post it up. Renee sounds truly inspirational and I'm going to do some research on her.

Does it sound good? Hopefully you like the idea.


	2. Chapter 2

Eight names were listed shakily on the piece of paper. The woman held the paper a distance away from her. Her hands made the paper shake a little, for shaking hands ran in the family. She had begged with the community center for months to let her do this group. It took a lot of convincing until she could prove how worthy this group would be. She remembered a group; she couldn't give them a name, coming to her school to raise suicide awareness. Ever since then, it was her desire to start a similar group of her own. Some may call it counseling but she didn't want to list it as counseling. She knew how an opinion could change by such a word as one. It had made knots grow in her stomach when she had first started going, so her parents started saying "You're going to talk to a woman named Mrs. I mean Ms. Clearwater, ok?" So she simply put in bold letters on the top 'You are not alone.'

It was a nice outcome and she hoped the group finished successfully in the little time she was given. Three weeks. She couldn't go any longer because the center had other groups to work on. She was considering moving the group over to the school, but she wasn't quite sure. If the group still needed work, then she would, but she had to wait until their very last meetings to see how far they had progressed and if any of them still had thoughts of suicide. If it was just one or two kids, though, she could always send them to individual counseling.

To hold the kids progress in was a notebook. Slick and black where she would make notes on each of them to see if they had grown since the first meet. She made a mental note to herself to check pronunciation on some of their last names, just in case she would ever need to use them. She was thankful for having a small group; she wouldn't have trouble remembering only eight names. They were all fairly simple, anyway. She closed her eyes and quizzed herself to see if she could remember any names.

She turned to face the whiteboard. What should she write? What should she tell them to call her, Ms. Platt or Mrs. Evenson? She closed her eyes and shook away that name. She and her husband were legally separated. She didn't want to dread herself with the memories of him and what he d done to her. Maybe she should just have them call her Esme Or maybe that d be too weird. She wrote in medium size letters, slightly slanted on the southwest area of the board, Esme. She stuck the black Expo cap into the back so she wouldn't have to worry about carrying it in her hand. What else? She wondered and began to tap her chin with the Expo cap. She reached up the board with her arm, standing on the tips of her toes, and wrote the one word that happened to be the very reason why the kids were gathering here in the first place: SUICIDE. She decided that was enough for now and headed over to her white desk she had brought over from her small apartment, where she had a view on the currently teen-free room.

The room was a nice size. Not too big, not too small. It was probably the size of a regular classroom, if not a little larger. It didn't have much in it, either. Sixteen items all together, eight desks and eight chairs. She had always been somewhat dorky that way, doing math that wasn't really needed, for the fun of it. She was hoping the kids would give the room a little more flair to it later on, make it homier. She took a sip of her coffee. It burned her tongue but over the years she had gotten used to it. As a kid when she drank her mother s burning coffee, she d spit it immediately back into the cup, gave her mom a smile, then slid quickly back to the kitchen to fetch her mother a new one. She glanced at the clock to see how many minutes she had before the kids arrived. Shocked at how much time had gone by, she flew up from her seat, knocking over her coffee. It spilled all over her white shirt. She cursed and ran for her black jacket, throwing it on just in time before the first arrived in the class.

-X-

Don t judge a book by its cover.

Right after school ended was our first meet. I didn't get a chance to see who was going. Maybe it was best that I didn't. The names would probably throw me off, anyway. It wasn't about the name or face, but what was inside them. I knew that for a fact.

I was the first in the class. It was pretty much vacant except for desks, chairs, and a bigger white desk. It was descent. A woman, who was tightly holding her jacket over her, smiled and walked over to me.

"Hi, I'm Esme. You are?" I stayed silent.

More and more students slowly showed up.

"Of course, Emo Boy's here." A girl whispered. I wanted to kill the voice, even though I wasn't sure whose it was.

Esme heard it. "Now, let s not judge people. So, can we all go around giving names?"

Everyone said their name. Then it landed on me. I was silent. "Sir, can you kindly give us all your name?" Esme asked.

I stared at the wall for a few seconds. "I'm Edward."

Esme glanced up at the clock. "Well, that's all the time we have but hopefully we'll get more in tomorrow, ok?"

**A/N:** The end wasn't that good but please tell me if you like it. Thanks. :)


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